


As Nature Intended

by prettyasadiagram



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Curses, Gen, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyasadiagram/pseuds/prettyasadiagram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Huh,” Boyd muses. “When Stiles said <em>Ace Ventura</em> meets <em>Enchanted</em> meets <em>Princess Mononoke</em>, I imagined more wolves.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Nature Intended

**Author's Note:**

> Born out of this [this](http://s3-ec.buzzfed.com/static/enhanced/webdr03/2013/1/31/15/anigif_enhanced-buzz-11637-1359664558-4.gif) and [this](http://25.media.tumblr.com/e75ee05078686249da3fcaf09cdac90a/tumblr_mhw5krcyDj1qkwq2qo1_1280.jpg). As ever, blame thatdamneddame for not letting this rot on my hard drive and for the beta.

The problem, Derek thinks, as he tries to catch his breath and remove the stick that’s digging into his kidneys, is that he never learns. That he’s always surprised when everything blows up in his face. If he were smarter, he’d probably just hide out in his fixed up house and order Thai food three nights a week and ignore the hormone-driven problems of his pack.

Instead, there’s pressure in his chest and gray static in his vision, but he can hear Stiles muttering steadily to himself, so things can’t be too dire.

Before he blacks out, he wonders what happened to the witch.

 

  
Derek wakes to silence, the certain knowledge that he’s being stared at, and fur in his mouth.

“Dude, I know you’re awake. Open your eyes,” Stiles says. 

Which Derek does, but only because he hasn’t figured out _why_ there is something furry on his chin. Turns out, the stray cat he feeds sometimes when he’s feeling particularly low is sitting on his chest, staring pointedly at Derek’s face, tail swishing back and forth.

Derek blinks slowly, maintaining eye contact because he knows this cat, and this cat has some serious claws. He tries not to think about what Stiles will say if Derek actually growls at a cat that is 1/10th his size. He settles on glaring, hoping it works better on the cat than it does on Stiles.

It doesn’t.

The cat yawns deliberately, wafting bad breath and displaying some gleaming and pointy fangs, before delicately stepping off Derek via his face.

“I told you not to mess with that witch,” Stiles says, looking like Christmas has come early while Derek sputters and tries to pick cat hair out of his mouth. “And that’s gross; I’m definitely not kissing you now. But, more importantly, is it too early to say ‘I told you so’?”

The cat being willingly so close makes more sense when Stiles opens the blinds and points outside. The tree outside his room is currently housing three mountain lions and a pack of squirrels, all hanging out in what looks like non-violent harmony.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. And you should see the porch.”

Derek’s pretty sure he really, really shouldn’t. 

 

“What the hell happened?” Derek asks, as he steps around another rabbit to make his way to the kitchen table.

Stiles sips at his coffee. “Well, after you passed out,” he starts, raising his voice when Derek scoffs and starts to interrupt. “I called Isaac, because no way in hell was I lugging your heavy ass back here—”

“And the witch?”

“Gone when I got there,” Isaac says, over Stiles’s indignant, “Rude.”

“In any case,” Stiles continues loudly, “I’m pretty sure she’s in my chem class, so that’s a start.”

“Great,” Derek says faintly, “I’ve been cursed by a high schooler.”

 

It quickly becomes clear that Derek can’t leave the property, not if he wants to leave the Camaro scratch free, which he most definitely does.

Stiles stands by his Jeep and laughs and laughs and eventually tries to hide his face in his hoodie, because apparently it’s just too funny that whenever Derek gets within ten feet of the Jeep or the Camaro, any animal in the vicinity actively tries to herd him _away_.

When Derek is growling from what the wildlife deems the safety of the porch, Stiles hops into his Jeep and says, “Don’t worry, Giselle, let the animals protect you. I’ll bring you back some curly fries. Werewolves cannot live on blueberry pop-tarts and pizza pockets alone.”

He listens to Stiles’s hiccupping laugh until it’s too far away, and then he turns to glare at the cat clawing at his pant leg, “I am _not_ Giselle.”

 

When Stiles gets back, he’s bearing a bag from the only diner in town and a green milkshake. 

Derek scowls. “That looks disgusting,” he says.

“Don’t be so grumpy, boo-bear,” Stiles calls out, getting out of the jeep with a broad grin on his face. “It’s not for you. I got _you_ some rice pudding, weirdo.”

They sit on the porch and split the curly fries, Stiles throwing pieces to the thrushes, and while Derek feels oddly touched that Stiles remembered his diner order, it doesn’t stop him from trying to knock over the monstrosity at Stiles’s elbow for the cat to demolish. In Derek’s experience, things that smell like colors probably shouldn’t be eaten, and whatever that is smells _green_. 

Derek idly thinks that this is nice, just the two of them and the warmth of a Saturday afternoon, until he hears running in the forest. He turns to glare at Stiles.

Stiles smiles winsomely. “Did I mention Scott is coming over?”

 

Derek tolerates Scott cooing at the rabbits. He even stays quiet when Erica shows up and cuddles with the mountain lions. He draws the line at Stiles naming the cat Crookshanks.

“No.”

Stiles looks up from where he’s playing with the cat on the carpet. “Why not? Smushed face, orange fluffy fur, looks like it’ll bite your nose off—definitely Crookshanks.”

“That cat is a menace. It scratches; you saw what it did to Erica.”

“I told her not to pull on Crookshanks’s tail. How would you like it if someone pulled on your tail, Professor Lupin?”

The cat—Crookshanks, Stiles insists—deliberately licks its claws, probably chasing the last remnants of Erica’s blood, and purrs louder, so Derek gives it up as a lost cause. When Stiles gets tetanus Derek will be the one saying, “told you so.”

 

It’s not that Derek doesn’t realize that he got off pretty lucky. Things could be worse. He could be cursed to speak in limericks. He could be dying. _Stiles_ could be dying. There are worse spells out there than being catnip to local wildlife.

However, if he finds another squirrel in his bed, cabinet, or bathtub, or if Stiles makes one more Dr. Doolittle crack, Derek will give in and see if the raccoons in the living room respond to verbal commands.

 

Derek kicks everyone out at ten, says it’s a school night and he gets enough dirty looks from the Sheriff that he’d rather not add curfew breaking to the list.

He walks Stiles to his jeep and pretends he can’t hear the jumping of Stiles’s heart, the clicking of his throat as he swallows. In the long shadow cast by the house, Derek presses Stiles against his jeep and kisses him, ignores Isaac’s heavy sighs and Scott gagging in the background in favor of stealing a little more time with Stiles warm and, for once, staying where he’s put.

 

  
The next day is a giant clusterfuck. Derek still can’t leave the property without an entourage of wildlife and he’s out of milk, toaster strudels, and popcorn. Staring into his fridge, he wonders if texting Stiles a grocery list would be too presumptive at this stage in their relationship. 

In the end, he finds a bag of Warheads, a can of condensed milk, and three stale hamburger buns in the back of the pantry and decides that he doesn’t need to let Stiles know about the sad state of his kitchen.

He’s eating the condensed milk straight from the can when a bird lands on the windowsill and cocks its head at him. Derek is pretty sure it’s judging him, but he refuses to be cowed by something that can be distracted by breadcrumbs.

 

Being confined to the property is a lot like when he first came back to Beacon Hills and everything was falling apart. He had tried to stay close to the house then, because what else was he going to do? There were hunters in town and he had his sister to bury.

Now that things have settled down, Derek has begun making a life for himself, making a place for himself in town. He says hi to Jane at the diner when he stops by for lunch, nods to the Sheriff when he sees him around. He has a library card that he occasionally uses.

The point is, Derek is not a shut-in. He had a life in New York; he has the beginnings of one here, and, contrary to what Stiles seems to think, Derek is a functional adult. He does actually have shit to do. 

Which is all to say that being stuck in one square mile is pretty much bullshit.

He tries to go for a run, but it’s no fun when half the forest keeps outpacing him and circling back as if to say _damn, you’re slow_.

Distracting himself with his usual exercise routine sounds good in theory, but Crookshanks comes over and watches him, resting his paws on Derek’s head as he tries to do pushups, entranced as Derek moves up and down.

It’s hard to concentrate on keeping good-form with an audience.

Eventually, Derek gives up. He heats up the last hot pocket from the freezer, silently promising to buy more for Isaac, and ignores the rabbit nibbling at a cabinet door. He sits on the couch and tries not to think about the latest events in his life, grudgingly petting Crookshanks and watching _Say Yes to the Dress_ , hoping that none of his pack skip school and come home early.

 

  
Derek wakes on the couch, feeling rested and warm, to the sound of Stiles in the kitchen, and wonders at how he didn’t wake when Stiles came in, that even in his sleep Stiles just slips under Derek’s skin, settles in like he belongs.

His lazy peace is broken when Boyd comes in and laughs.

Derek is buried under three foxes, five squirrels, and the cat. The quilts from the couch have been stolen by a bobcat to make a nest in the corner.

“Huh,” Boyd muses. “When Stiles said _Ace Ventura_ meets _Enchanted_ meets _Princess Mononoke_ , I imagined more wolves.”

“There are no wolves in California,” Derek grits out, and then promptly wishes the cat wasn’t lying on his stomach so he could roll himself off in shame.

Boyd laughs. “Get up. Stiles is making waffles. Also, Erica is coming over later with a camera, and if you’re still having a cuddle puddle there will be blackmail material forever.”

 

In the end, they don’t so much find a way to break the spell, as much as they just let it wear off.

Stiles shows up after school, his voice muffled as he sheds his hoodie, “Good news! Sabrina tells me—”

“Who the hell is Sabrina?”

“Yeah, get this: witch from the woods? Actually named Sabrina. You should be so impressed by my restraint. There are so many jokes I want to make.”

“Get to the point.”

“According to Sabrina, before you rudely startled her last week,” Stiles ignores Derek’s glower, “she was doing a ritual to be, and I quote, ‘closer to nature.’”

From the next room, Boyd starts to laugh.

“Stiles. _The point_.”

“The point, Derek, is that her intention to be one with nature was transferred to you. And somehow that manifested as you masquerading temporarily as a beautiful Disney princess.”

“And this is good news?”

Stiles shrugs, “Well, she could have turned you into an actual wolf?” 

 

(When Derek stumbles across Sabrina two months later during another one of her “closer to Nature” rituals, that’s exactly what happens. Stiles takes one look at Derek’s new form and, in the resulting silence, says brightly, “Called it!”

He manages to run ten yards before Derek tackles him and gleefully sits on him.)

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not repost this work in its entirety or share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads.


End file.
